


it's in the subtext

by eggsaladstain



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsaladstain/pseuds/eggsaladstain
Summary: Snippets of the relationship between Daisy Johnson and Daniel Sousa through the words they said and the ones they didn’t.
Relationships: Skye | Daisy Johnson/Daniel Sousa
Comments: 73
Kudos: 298





	1. i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d like to say that he doesn’t notice how attractive she is, that his interest is purely professional, but that’s not true either. He notices. He’s interested.

**i.**

Daniel Sousa is having one of those days, so he can’t say he’s entirely surprised to see a woman he doesn’t know sitting at his desk, reading through his files, and looking for all the world like she belongs there. He thinks, for a moment, that he may have made a mistake and entered the wrong office, but a quick glance confirms it is in fact his name on the door, which now makes her the third stranger who has managed to infiltrate what was once the most secure SHIELD base in the western United States.

She ignores him completely and he’s not sure if he’s more annoyed or impressed by her blatant disregard at being caught in the act. She’s a professional, that much is clear, and he begins wondering what exactly he’s gotten himself into that would result in someone like her knocking at his door. Or rather, forgoing the knocking altogether and making herself right at home.

He’d like to say that he regains his composure, that he remains calm and unfazed by her presence, but that would be a lie.

He’s far from calm and he is definitely fazed.

He’d like to say that he doesn’t notice how attractive she is, that his interest is purely professional, but that’s not true either.

He notices.

He’s interested.

And perhaps in another life, they’d meet under better circumstances and he could do this differently, but in this one, she’s still an intruder who’s trespassing and he’s still got a job to do. Duty calls, and all that, so he demands an explanation, but if his tone isn’t quite as sharp as it should've been, he pretends not to notice.

 _W_ _ho the hell are you?,_ he asks.

What he means is, _I_ _wouldn’t mind_ _getting to know_ _you_ _._

...

Daisy Johnson is having one hell of a day, if she’s being perfectly honest, so it doesn’t really surprise her when she finds out that Coulson and Simmons have blown their cover and need an extraction. Nothing ever went smoothly under normal circumstances at SHIELD, not that normal ever meant anything to them to begin with, so it would be too much to hope for things to actually start going according to plan given their current state of affairs. But perhaps she spoke too soon, because she makes it onto the base without any complications and into Agent Daniel Sousa’s office without any trouble, and that’s when she starts to think her luck may be changing.

She doesn’t know much about the man other than what she’s read and heard from Coulson, but one look at his office tells her everything she needs to know. Tidy, organized, with few personal effects – a by-the-book kind of guy who’s dedicated to his work. A little boring, perhaps, but there’s nothing wrong with that, especially considering the absolute goldmine of intelligence housed within these four walls. She takes a seat at the desk, starts snapping photos of every file within reach, and waits for him to arrive.

It doesn’t take long before she feels footsteps coming down the hall – he’s punctual, of course he is – and then the door swings open. She hears him take a quick breath before asking her to identify herself, and when she finally lifts her head, the first thought she has is that his picture really didn’t do him justice. She lets it linger in the back of her mind as she hands him her card, watching him intently as he reads it.

He has kind eyes, she realizes. They make his whole face softer, somehow. Gentler.

The history books never mentioned that, and now that he’s standing in front of her, asking her for answers, she finds herself wondering what else they left out.

 _We know all_ , she replies with a smile, _even about you,_ _Mr. Sousa_ _._

What she means is, _I_ _wouldn’t mind knowing_ _more._


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousa should have someone there too, even if it’s just a near-stranger who has lied to him and saved his life in equal measure. He deserves that much. He deserves so much more.

**ii.**

As far as life-threatening experiences go, Daniel’s been through worse – war, torture, plenty of fights he wasn’t sure he’d win – and the thought of dying here on the train is certainly a blow to his pride, but he’ll admit that it’s not looking good for him, the way things currently stand. He’s outnumbered, and in these close quarters, that might be enough to do him in.

In retrospect, it was probably a mistake coming here to the bar car alone, but he’s been feeling like things were out of his control ever since those three showed up at the base, and he could really use a moment alone to get his head on straight. And a drink. He could really use a drink.

Of course, he barely gets in one sip before it all goes to hell.

For a while, he’s able to hold his own, but at the end of the day, it’s a numbers game, and one on three just aren’t good odds. Soon enough, he’s crashing into the wall as a cord slips around his neck, and he’s thinking he might really be a goner when he hears a familiar voice behind him. She sounds as confident as ever, with a punch that knocks the other woman to the floor, and, god, if she didn’t already have his attention from their first meeting, she certainly has it now.

The pressure around his neck loosens, and he gets in another jab before sagging backward against the wall, looking up at her in disbelief. She doesn’t have a hair out of place, hasn’t even broken a sweat, and he’s not sure he wants to know anymore what terrible thing he’s landed himself in the middle of, but maybe it’s worth it if he gets to cross paths with someone like her.

He still doesn’t know anything about this woman – in fact, he’s pretty sure he actually knows less now – but somehow, she’s here and she’s saved his life and he thinks that might just be good enough for today.

 _You again_ , he gasps as she knocks out one of the two men without missing a beat.

What he means is, _i_ _t's good to see you again_.

…

There are a lot of other things Daisy could – probably should – be doing right now, but it feels just as important, maybe even more so, to sit with him in this moment as he tries to make sense of everything they’ve just told him.

She’s been there before, felt that pit in her stomach at the realization that the evil they’d been fighting had been beside them all along. It’s still one of the worst things she’s ever felt. The years haven’t erased that pain, but she was lucky, she had friends and allies beside her to help her through it. Sousa should have someone there too, even if it’s just a near-stranger who has lied to him and saved his life in equal measure. 

He deserves that much.

He deserves so much more.

Of course she knows the sacrifice that’s asked of them in their line of work. It’s what they all signed up for, willingly, having carefully weighed the risks. That doesn’t make it any easier when one of their own ends up paying the ultimate price for the cause. It’s a hard pill to swallow. It goes down bitter every single time.

His shock soon gives way to frustration, and she knows that feeling too, remembering the same frustrations she had felt a few days and some twenty odd years earlier. It’s hard, being this powerless, but she knows it’s for the greater good, they don’t have a choice, so it has to be this way, doesn’t it?

Does it?

He tells her what he’s lost, how far he’s willing to go, how much more he has left to give, and she has to bite her tongue to keep from saying something that will change everything. The difficulty of letting a young Wilfred Malick walk away all those years ago is nothing compared to the guilt she feels now, knowing that they have to deliver Daniel Sousa to his death.

It echoes in her ears, his insistence that he’d give his life for this fight. _I_ _n my world,_ she wants to tell him, _y_ _ou already have_.

What she means is, _I wish it could be different_ _._


	3. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s growing weary of leaving people behind. People like her.

**iii.**

Mack is the last person Daisy would've ever expected to be in favor of changing history, but it's the right call, she's glad he made it, and she's never been prouder to call him her Director. Because what good is saving the world if you can't save someone like Daniel Sousa, who has devoted his entire life to protecting it?

It's risky, altering the past like this, but if his death had such an impact on SHIELD, then she can only imagine what he could accomplish with his life. Besides, she prefers to think of it as fixing an old mistake, and she has a hard time believing that the universe would object to righting this particular wrong.

This is why she joined SHIELD, after all, to help those who can't help themselves, to save the people who need saving, to give a second chance to those who deserve it.

She hasn't known him very long, but what she knows is enough. He is a good man with a good heart. And if anyone deserves this, it's him.

If she finds herself feeling personally invested in making sure he has a future, she doesn't say it.

And if she finds herself liking the idea of him sticking around, well, she'll keep that to herself too.

 _Writing some new history_ , she nods, a smile spreading across her face. _Copy that._

What she means is, _this time will be different_.

…

Daniel watches Agent Johnson make her way up the stairs and through the doorway, annoyed at the delay and irritated at being kept in the dark. Again. He can appreciate the fact that she and her team saved his life, sure, but now they're interfering with his mission, and he just can't have that.

It's not that he doesn't trust them. He does, more than he probably should, considering the havoc they wreaked back at the base, the information they can't possibly know but somehow do, and the technology that seems to be light-years ahead of anything he's ever seen. They're dealing with something much bigger than he can wrap his head around, and he has enough on his plate as it is between his day job, investigating Hydra, and the current mission that he's about to be late for.

He looks down at his watch, then back up at the empty doorway, and makes up his mind.

As he gathers his things, it occurs to him that this will probably be the last time he sees any of them again. To be honest, it's a huge relief. Once they're gone, maybe things can finally go back to normal, or as normal as they can be, given his new knowledge that the enemy has infiltrated the highest levels of his organization.

But there's a part of him that hesitates.

Despite his limited interactions with them, he can already tell that this is a solid team. They work together seamlessly, a well-oiled machine, and seeing the way they operate makes him realize how much he misses it, being on a team. He misses having a partner instead of subordinates, he misses late night discussions around a table instead of being the one giving the orders, he misses the camaraderie that develops from a job well done instead of reading about it the next day in a three-page report.

There's a part of him that wants to be on this team, working with them, helping them, helping her, but that's not the mission.

The motorcycle roars to life in his hands and he rides off into the night, trying not to the think about the people he just left. He barely knows them, but they left a deep impression all the same, and he has a feeling that he'll miss them, maybe not tomorrow or the day after, but a month from now, a year from now. He'll come across something that suddenly reminds him of the strangest few days of his life, and he'll be struck with longing and regret all over again, for some more than others.

But this is the life that he signed up for, a life that puts the mission first, above all else. Regrets are just part of the job. He knows this, he chose this, and he's never resented it before, but he does now, just a little bit.

He's growing weary of leaving people behind. People like her. She took the time to listen to him, to try and explain the inexplicable to him. He wishes he had thanked her for that.

The plane is no longer visible behind him and he wonders if they're following him by now. Not that it really matters – he's good at shaking a tail, so even if they are, he doesn't suppose he'll run into them again.

It's a shame, really.

If there had been time, he would've said goodbye, thanked them for their help, wished them well.

If there had been time, he would've asked for her story, he would've told her his.

 _I've never met anyone quite like you before_ , he would've said.

What he would've meant is, _I'm glad we met_.


	4. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wonders what he’d think if he knew all the other terrible things they’ve done for the greater good, the lines they’ve crossed, the choices they’ve made. There’s a part of her that wants to tell him. There’s a part of her that’s ashamed to.

**iv.**

Of all the things Daniel thought this mysterious team might be – an ultra elite arm of the feds, a newly created independent agency, a secret new division of SHIELD – time travelers from the future would not have been one of them. It does explain a lot, though. In fact, it explains pretty much everything, from their advanced technology to the intel they couldn't possibly otherwise know to their general mannerisms and demeanor.

He has so many questions – how does this all work, what is he supposed to do now, what's their plan, how can he help – but the more he talks it through, the less sense it makes, and he wonders if it would be frowned upon in this time period if he were to vomit into a trash can on the corner of the street.

It's too much to process – Hydra, Malick, his death, time travel, body-snatching aliens, 1973. He'll have to take it one step at a time, starting with today. He just needs to get through today.

By the time they make it down to the hideout, he's feeling better, better at hiding his discomfort at least. Being in a semi-familiar environment seems to help, though the place is much livelier than he remembers. He listens carefully as Coulson fills him in on the details about Hydra, Project Insight, the Chronicoms. It still doesn't exactly make sense, but he's starting to see how the pieces fit together.

He's not quite sure what to make of this man, this Phil Coulson. His methods are unconventional, that's for sure, but it's apparent that he's just trying to do the right thing, just trying to get home. Daniel can understand that, and he can respect that. There's something familiar about him – that burning need for justice, that desire to make the world a better place. From certain angles, it's a bit like looking in the mirror.

They part ways to gather intel, and Daniel keeps to the fringes as promised, sticking to dark corners and asking lots of questions without giving anything away. He scans the room for the rest of them and sees that they're all holding their own, Coulson with a couple of new recruits, May with General Stoner, and Johnson – Daisy, she's asked him to call her – with a sleazebag if he's ever seen one.

He tries to pay attention to the conversation in front of him, but his eyes keep drifting back over to her. She's clearly in her element, comfortable at being undercover, and it's not that he's worried, he just doesn't like the way the other man pulls up a chair without asking, slides her a bottle even though she already has a drink, and runs his eyes over her like she's a piece of merchandise he's inspecting. It's rude, quite frankly, and degrading.

But he knows she can handle herself and he trusts her to do it, so he turns back to the discussion at hand, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise and inviting the man in front of him to keep talking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement. Johnson – Daisy – is out of her chair, and the man she's been talking to follows suit. He's blocking her way, and Daniel really doesn't like the look of that.

In his experience, men like that who won't take no for an answer tend to make a scene when things don't go their way, and a commotion is the very last thing they need right now.

He makes his way over to her, wrapping his arm around her waist, and she immediately plays along, leaning against him so naturally it almost catches him off guard. She introduces him to her new friend – a Malick, what are the odds – and pauses to let him introduce himself. He had meant to say he was her boyfriend, but he finds himself getting distracted by the weight of her palm against his chest, the way she relaxes into his arms. He thinks about the way she had turned her head when he approached, the way her eyes widened, the slow smile that filled her face.

He likes the way she looks at him, he realizes. He likes it quite a bit.

 _Her fiancee_ , is what he ends up saying.

What he means is _, I could get used to this_.

...

Daisy can still feel Gideon Malick's eyes on her as she walks away, and she has to suppress the urge to flash him a certain finger. She didn't think it was possible, but the younger version of him might actually be worse, all cocky and condescending without any substance to back it up. She would've liked to punch that smug smile right off his face, but Sousa's method was just as effective and probably more satisfying, to tell you the truth.

He's good at diffusing a situation, she notices, a quick thinker, a smooth talker. He has this way of softening his tone and shifting his body language to appear unassuming and nonthreatening – a difficult skillset to learn, and a valuable one that could make or break an undercover op. He's very good at what he does, and she glad he's on their side, glad he's here to have her back.

There are other things to be glad about too, like the way he calls her _sweetheart_ without sounding patronizing, the gentle touch of his arm around her waist, the tilt of his head as he gives her an excuse to walk away.

That soft press of his hand at her back – she likes it. It's steady and reassuring, and it feels safe. She likes it quite a bit.

She'd like to unpack those feelings sometime, but not right now, not after the dawning realization that the Chronicoms have teamed up with Hydra, truly a match made in hell, or at least, something out of her nightmares.

This throws a wrench into things, and they need to regroup, figure out how to move forward.

Of course, nothing is ever that easy.

She spots Coulson and May from across the room, right as Wilfred Malick approaches them. It's clear he's been told the truth, and judging from the backup that he's brought with him, he's not in a forgiving mood.

There's only one play here – the kid, Nathaniel. It's not a great decision, but it's the only one that'll get them out of there, so she can't say she feels too bad about taking him hostage. He'll live, and she'll sleep easy that night, and that's all there is to it.

But Sousa is disturbed by what she's done, what she was willing to do, and it strikes her that his SHIELD is not the same as hers.

Perhaps he's had to make some difficult decisions in his time and choose the lesser of two evils, but not like her. If he's walked through the darkness and stared into its face, she's lived with it, touched it, learned its name.

When did it become so easy for her to order the death of one kid and point a gun at another? When did the tough call become such an easy one to make?

It's sobering, seeing her decision through his eyes, hearing the horrified tone in his voice. She wonders what he'd think if he knew all the other terrible things they've done for the greater good, the lines they've crossed, the choices they've made. There's a part of her that wants to tell him. There's a part of her that's ashamed to.

Maybe later, when all this is over, when they've saved the world and she can say with absolute certainty that their actions were worth it. If he decides to stick around, if he joins them in the future, that's when she'll tell him. Later.

In the meantime, there are still enemies on their heels and a mission to complete, so her moral reckoning will have to wait, at least until the immediate threat is neutralized.

She throws open her hand and sends the Chronicoms flying backward into the wall, and when she turns around, Sousa's expression is shocked, but there's something else there too, some other emotion she can't quite place.

It's been a long time, she realizes, since someone outside of the team or their adversaries has seen her use her powers. She'd forgotten what that was like, being able to surprise someone by what she can do.

She wonders what he'd seen when he looked at her just then.

She wonders if he'll look at her differently now.

 _I'll explain later_ , she replies, in answer to the question he hadn't asked.

What she means is, _I hope you'll understand._


	5. v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty years isn’t so long that he’ll have outlived them, but it’s long enough that the people who knew him would have mourned his death and moved on. He’s a mere memory to them. He’s a ghost.

**v.**

Daisy has to admit, she's impressed by him. She knew that she would be – he is, after all, a formidable agent and a SHIELD legend – but the fact that he's still standing upright despite everything he's been through, that's impressive, and she's not sure she'd be coping quite as well if she were in his shoes.

He must have a million questions, but she would hardly know it. He's kept them mostly to himself, and she appreciates that about him, the way he takes things in stride and adapts to new environments.

Still, she has to laugh at his reaction to seeing a photo of himself on her phone. Of all the things for him to be so impressed by – time travel, the future, her powers – it figures that it would be something as mundane as zooming in on a touchscreen. She returns the phone to her pocket, joking that he looks good for his age and chuckling again over his furrowed brow in the photo.

He exhales sharply in response, and she looks up, seeing the realization hit him. The emotions dance across his face as clearly as if he'd shouted them, and it breaks her heart a little, hearing the regret in his voice when he speaks. The look in his eyes makes her falter, and she finds herself wondering for the first time if they really made the right choice in rewriting his story.

Yes, they saved his life and gave him a future, but what kind of life will he have now? He's in a world he doesn't recognize, where everyone he knows thinks he's dead. If he's lucky, he'll have to create a new identity and start over from scratch. If he's not, he'll die for a second time, caught in the crossfire of a war that wasn't his to fight.

If the same thing had happened to her – if she'd been plucked out of her life, dropped in a different time, cut off from the people she loved – she's not sure she'd be as polite about it as he has been. She's not sure she'd forgive the people who did that to her, no matter how good their intentions.

He's a better person than she is, clearly, and that only makes it worse. Because the truth is, she's glad they did it.

Even now, seeing that haunted expression on his face, she's still glad they saved him. The world needs more people like him, and considering what they're up against, they could use all the help they can get.

It's not that she expects him to stay. He has already done more than his fair share, and she has no right to ask him to sacrifice anything else. But it's hard not to think about how well he fits on their team, how natural it feels to have him standing guard even though he knows now just how capable she is of protecting herself.

Even after everything he's been through, he's still willing to show up, willing to help in whatever way he can. He's a good man, too good, and they don't deserve him, but he's here, isn't he?

He's here. He's alive. He's flesh and blood beside her.

She'd do it again in a heartbeat.

 _I'm sorry_ , she murmurs, because the words still need to be said.

What she means is, _I don't regret it._

_..._

Daniel thought he knew what SHIELD stood for, how it operated, which lines they would and wouldn't cross in pursuit of a mission. He had thought that those principles would be nonnegotiable, that they'd be set in stone, but clearly, he was wrong. Since when did they start taking hostages? And when did they develop new super serum powers?

Every minute with this team seems to raise new questions, none of them good ones.

He wonders how they reached this point, how they let it get this bad. They should've stopped the threat in their own time, prevented any of this from happening in the first place. But perhaps he's being unfair to them. Whatever they've been through, whatever decisions they've had to make, he knows it hasn't been easy.

Still, he'd like to get the full picture of how it got this way. Surely he's owed that much, considering they faked his death and upended his life without asking. He's trying not to think too much about that. He's not sure he can deal with it just yet.

Instead, he turns his thoughts to that thing Daisy did, that blast of air – or vibrations, maybe? – that came from her hand. He wouldn't have thought of her as someone to volunteer for the super serum, but it occurs to him then that he doesn't actually know her very well. Strange, because it feels like he does.

He's not entirely sure what it is about her. Certainly she reminds him of people he's known – her confidence, her charm, and her ability to take down a man twice her size are all achingly familiar – but there's something else too, some other feeling that he can't explain.

He felt it the very moment they met, the sense that everything was falling into place somehow. He's felt it every moment since.

But as much as he likes the feeling, he knows it's not one he can keep.

There are much bigger things at play here, and despite the team's attempts at preserving the timeline, they seem to have only made things worse with each successive jump. It's not that he thinks they don't care, but there's a sense of detachment that touches their actions and reactions. He's not judging them for it. If anything, it makes sense, because to them, 1976 is the distant past, a time they've read about in history books. For everyone else, it's just the present unfolding in front of their eyes.

Perhaps this team has forgotten that each time they jump, they're leaving behind a whole world filled with real people with real lives.

Daniel hasn't forgotten.

He swore to protect those people, and he can't do that from the hold of a ship that could disappear at any given moment. No, this has to be his last stop. At the very least, he'll be able to fight Hydra on the ground, prevent them from doing any more damage, try to save this world while the others save theirs.

Daisy's computer starts beeping, and the sound reminds him of the task at hand. Before anything else, they have to stop Project Insight before it can wipe out their allies, past, present, and future.

He looks over at her, hard at work on a device that seems incongruously small for what they need it to do. It never ceases to amaze him, how sleek and advanced their technology is, and the thing she calls a phone is a true marvel, with a camera somehow inside of it and a screen you can control with just a touch. It's incredible, it really is, and he can't quite picture how those big blocky telephones of his day end up becoming that tiny rectangle in her hand.

This world must seem so primitive in comparison, and he wonders how she can stand it. He can barely keep up with the changes from these past few days, and it's easier to go forward than it is to go back.

But wait. That's not right. It's not just days that have passed, it's years. Twenty of them.

Two decades gone in the blink of an eye, and it finally hits him then, all the things he has lost. Family, friends, his career, his home. Everything he knows, everyone he loves is gone. Twenty years isn't so long that he'll have outlived them, but it's long enough that the people who knew him would have mourned his death and moved on. He's a mere memory to them. He's a ghost.

And god, it hurts.

He lets the echoes wash over him, thinking of all the things he wanted to do, all the people he wanted to see one last time. But it's too late now. He can never see them again.

And that hurts too.

Daisy's voice pulls him back, and her apology is appreciated, but it's not necessary. Despite how strange and difficult his current circumstances may be, this is the job, and he understands what it asks for, he understands what it takes. He just never thought he'd have to deal with the aftermath when it finally took everything.

Well, not quite everything.

He's still here, isn't he? That's something, isn't it?

It means another chance for him to do good, to make the world a better place, not in the past or in the future, but here, in the present. It also means parting ways with this team, now for a second time.

And that hurts too, but not as much as he would've expected. Maybe because he knows he's doing the right thing, because he knows they’ll be doing the same.

He exhales and looks back at her, remembering the first time he had left. He won't make the same mistake of leaving wordlessly in the night. When he leaves this time, he'll do it right.

But that doesn't mean he'll enjoy it.

 _Wish I could've said some goodbyes_ , he confesses.

What he means is, _I wish you didn't have to be one of them_.


	6. vi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She finds it hard to concentrate, so she settles instead on the cadence of his voice, the gentle rise and fall of his tone. It sounds like music and feels like waves rocking her back towards the shore. It’s one of the loveliest things she’s ever heard.

**vi.**

Later, Daniel will blame himself.

Later, when they're back on solid ground, when they're safe from the chains and the needles and the knives, he'll sit beside her and think about how he should have been paying better attention, how he should have reacted faster.

If only he had fought harder, stopped them from taking her. If only he had volunteered to take her place. Things would be different if he had.

The guilt, the worry, the fear – that will come later.

Later, when his mind is clear and the room is quiet but for the whirring of the machine, he'll watch the bright lights pass over her pale skin and notice how her absence from his arms feels worse than the memory of her lifeless body pressed against him.

He'll feel it then, an ache that grows in his chest with each rise and fall of her own, and by the end of the night, it will turn into a deeply rooted attachment, one he'll never be able to shake.

All this comes later.

First, he has to get out of the barn, though it's proving to be more difficult than he would've thought.

He leans back against the wall, breath heavy from the drugs and the effort of scouring the room for a possible escape. It's been hours since Malick's men took Daisy, and in that time, Daniel has searched every inch of the four walls around him only to come up empty.

There are no loose nails or floorboards he could use as weapons, no weaknesses in the structure that he could exploit. The only thing he can find is a small gap in the wall that lets him see into the next room. It turns out to be more of a nightmare than a relief.

If he's being honest, he didn't expect to find anything. Once their captor revealed himself to be the youngest Malick son, it became apparent that there wouldn't be an easy way out. This isn't a simple kidnapping. This is personal.

No, the truth is, the past few hours have just been a distraction. A distraction from what's happening next door. He hears objects rattling, that smug voice that won't stop talking, the clinking of metal against metal. If he closes his eyes, he might be able to convince himself that it's just a slow morning at a diner.

But that's not what he sees.

What he sees through the crack in the wall is an array of surgical instruments strewn on a tray as Daisy lies nearby on a table. What he sees is a needle, then a scalpel descend out of his line of sight followed by a choking, gasping noise.

He knows that sound well by now. It's seared into his skull – that soft, muffled groan, something in between a whisper and a wail. It's the sound of someone trying to swallow a scream, and it might be the worst thing he's ever heard, but then everything falls quiet, and he realizes he was wrong.

The silence is worse.

The men drag her back into the room, and Daniel doesn't know all the details of human anatomy, but he knows enough to be worried about the spots of blood at her neck, the top of her spine, her lower back, both sides of her ribs. He expected torture, he expected bruises and perhaps broken bones, but this...this is a dissection.

The thought makes him sick, as does the way Malick talks about her, the way he looks at her – as if she's a well he can drink from, as if she's a resource he's entitled to. Daniel doesn't need to hear his explanation, it's clear now what he wants from her. He wants her powers. He'll stop at nothing to get them.

Daniel looks at the younger man then, really looks at him. He remembers being shown a photograph of him as a child and hearing the obvious pride in his father's voice. He remembers thinking that he was a cute kid with bright eyes and a big smile. There's no trace of that kid in the man before him. And it finally dawns on him that they just might die here if they don't find a way to escape.

Daisy groans softly, and he dives for her, slipping his hand under her head. Her voice is faint and she's muttering something he can't make out, a name, maybe. She says it happened before, and he's still trying to work out what that could possibly mean when her head falls forward and her voice fades away entirely.

He pulls himself back up against the wall and slides his leg under her cheek, starting to tell her his story, hoping his words might help her stay conscious. He tells her about Bastogne, and later, it will occur to him that he might have picked a better topic, a happier memory to share with her, but in that moment, the only thing he's thinking about is how clammy and cold her skin is, how weak her pulse is, how he's losing her and doesn't know how to stop it.

Talking is the only thing he can do, the only way he can think of to hold her attention, so he tells her about Mike Stephens, a man he hasn't thought about in a long, long time. They were never friends, barely more than acquaintances, but that day out there in the cold, Mike never left his side.

Daniel can still remember the stories he told him to keep him awake, stories about his parents, his favorite books, the plans he had for the future. He remembers being surprised to learn that Mike was a reader, that he wanted to travel the world and study different languages. He remembers wishing he had known him better.

Most of all, he remembers trying to speak through frozen lips, trying to tell him how much it meant that he was here. Mike had just shushed him and told him to save his energy and tell him later, when they got back to camp.

Mike never made it back. And Daniel never got to thank him.

But maybe he can now, by keeping his memory alive, by passing on his words, by saving someone else.

Maybe that's what it was all for, his many close brushes with death. Maybe it was to lead him here, to make sure that good people don't have to fight alone, to stay by their side when they need someone, to help them find their way back.

Mike didn't make it, but Daniel will do whatever it takes to make sure Daisy does.

He leans down and raises his voice slightly, hoping she's still with him, hoping that she can hear him.

 _We're going home_ , he says urgently, cradling her head in his hands.

What he means is, _that's a promise_.

...

When the needle breaks her skin, Daisy thinks of her mother.

She thinks of the first time she met her, the first time she heard her voice, the first time she saw her smile. It had felt so warm, being in her presence, standing beside her, talking with her. She had felt so full, knowing that this was who she had come from.

She wants to focus on these good memories, the few that she has, but the mind doesn't work that way. Remembering the warmth in her mother's eyes also means remembering the icy grip of her mother's hands when they wrapped around her throat.

It's starting to make sense now, how Jiaying could have reached that point. With each prick of the needle, every slide of sharp metal into her flesh, Daisy thinks of the pain and the rage and the horrors her mother must have held in her own flesh, in her heart, in her bones. And for the first time, Daisy thinks she may be able to understand how her mother had felt all those years ago. For the first time, Daisy can see how her mother's war might have been justified.

It's unfair, she knows. It's selfish of her to think this way. But it's hard to be the bigger person, it's hard to think of forgiveness when she's being poked and prodded and pillaged, her veins drained of blood, her body being violated and abused and consumed.

When Nathaniel sets down the last of his tools, Daisy thinks of vengeance, and when his men return her to that dusty, dirty floor, she thinks of bringing the whole barn down around them.

But not in her current state.

She can barely lift her head, let alone manage even the tiniest of quakes, and when she tries to speak, the words turn to mush in her mouth. It feels like being adrift, floating lost at sea, tired and empty and alone, and she lets herself succumb to it, lets her eyes fall closed as she sinks into the fog that's settling in her mind.

She's just getting lost in it when someone reaches out and pulls her back – a voice in her ear, hands stroking her hair, something soft and firm underneath her head. Ah, there he is. Sousa.

This feels warm too, a different kind of warmth, one she would quite like to keep.

He's saying something else now, and she tries to focus on his words, but they're slippery and distorted, like ripples in the water. She finds it hard to concentrate, so she settles instead on the cadence of his voice, the gentle rise and fall of his tone. It sounds like music and feels like waves rocking her back towards the shore. It's one of the loveliest things she's ever heard.

She feels his fingers tighten slightly in her hair as his breath tickles her ear. His next words are clear and unmistakable, and when he speaks of home, she finds that she can picture it. It seems close enough that if she were to just reach out, she could touch it.

Slowly, she lifts her hands up and shows him the piece of glass she's been hiding in her palm. It was the best she could do. She hopes it will be enough.

The pain hits anew when he slides it from her skin, and it hurts too much to do anything else, so she lays there, eyes closed, listening to the sound of his voice, letting it guide her home.

 _Keep talking_ , she wants to tell him.

What she means is, _I'm listening_.


	7. vii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He feels that he could do anything, that he could keep walking until the sun sets and the stars light up the sky, that he could hold her in his arms like this forever. Well, maybe not forever. Maybe not yet.

**vii.**

Daniel talks to her the whole way back.

He's never been much of a conversationalist, and loose lips are, of course, frowned upon in his profession, but now that he's started, he can't seem to stop.

He doesn't stick to any topic in particular, just whatever pops into his head, which is mostly a wide variety of questions he hopes Daisy will answer when she wakes up. Questions like, how long has she had her powers, does everyone else in the future have them too, what's the future like, are there flying cars, what's everyone's deal with Deke, and who and where is this Fitz he keeps hearing them talk about?

At a certain point, he runs out of things to ask, so he tells her about himself, about what his life was like before the war and after it. He talks for so long that his voice goes hoarse, but she's still unconscious and unresponsive, so he keeps talking. He won't let himself stop until they're safe.

Many years ago, when he was lying in the field hospital, he had overheard a doctor saying that it helped to talk to coma patients because they could still hear and the stimulation might help them wake up. He's not sure if that applies in this situation, but he's willing to give it a try.

Mostly, he just can't bear the silence.

Not again.

So, he tells her about his old team, his old partners who he understands have also become SHIELD legends and made it into the history books themselves. He tells her about the missions they completed, and he knows that she's read about them already, but the reports never tell the whole story. The real story is always much more or much less interesting than you'd expect it to be, and he wants her to hear it from him.

By the time he finally sees the plane on the horizon, his arms are numb and his legs are like jelly, but it's the strangest thing – he doesn't feel tired. On the contrary, he feels that he could do anything, that he could keep walking until the sun sets and the stars light up the sky, that he could hold her in his arms like this forever.

Well, maybe not forever. Maybe not yet.

For now, what he can do is carry her home, so he does, one step at a time, and when he makes it to the ramp, it occurs to him that he's begun to think of it as his home too. This place, these people, they've all become so important to him so quickly, and he realizes for the third time that he doesn't want to leave them.

He realizes he's already decided not to, though he's not sure exactly when or how it happened. It might have been somewhere along the way back, sometime during all those miles he walked, when he made the decision to stay. He can't say it was the flip of a switch or a conscious choice. No, it was more like getting caught in the rain. At first, you only feel a few raindrops, but then the drizzle turns into a torrent and before you know it, you're in a downpour, soaked all the way through to your bones.

As he makes his way into the plane, Daniel looks down at her again, hoping he might see her eyes open, hoping he might feel her shift in his arms. But she doesn't move, she hasn't stirred the entire way back, and he's really starting to worry now.

Simmons greets him at the top of the ramp and ushers him into a room with a long, glass tube, firing off instructions while grabbing bandages and clean clothes. Together, they get Daisy cleaned up and push her into the chamber, the lid shutting with an audible, if ominous, clang. He has to keep reminding himself that it's not a glass coffin.

With the machine coming to life and sending waves of light passing over her, he finally lets himself lean back against the beam, shifting his weight off his bad leg for the first time in hours. Simmons looks over, reminding him that he can still leave, and, under better circumstances, he would've laughed.

He's so far past leaving now that it's not even in the realm of possibility anymore.

These people saved his life and gave him a future he shouldn't have had. They've shown him things he wouldn't have otherwise seen. Where else would he go? What else would he do? The world still needs saving, after all, and, when the time comes, he wants to be there beside them. Beside her.

Oh, he's in the downpour, all right, and as he watches Daisy through the glass, he thinks that it's not so bad, being caught in this storm.

 _I'm where I need to be_ , he answers.

What he means is, _there's no place I'd rather be_.

...

Daisy is cold when she wakes.

It's the first thing she notices – not the humming of the machines, not the bright light passing over her body, but the feeling of missing a warmth that's no longer there.

Her memories have been coming back in pieces, fuzzy fragments of sounds and sensations, a little more each time she rises. This time, she remembers more of the same – the heaviness in her body, chains clinking, sharp things cutting her skin, and pain unlike anything she'd ever felt before. At this, she groans instinctively, turning onto her side as her hand makes contact with the glass surrounding her. Her fingers fumble with the release and she exhales in relief when the lid finally lifts.

Immediately, her body begins to ache again, and the weakness feels so uncomfortable, almost foreign, but she much prefers it to the claustrophobia of the narrow glass tube. The world spins as she sits up, and she shuts her eyes to keep from passing out or throwing up or some gross, messy combination of both. The thoughts rattle around in her head, setting off a new wave of pain each time they bring up something from her time in the barn.

She exhales slowly, trying to hold on to something, anything, anything else, anything better. She reaches blindly into the dark, foggy recesses of her mind until she finds it – the warmth that she had been missing. She remembers how it had stroked her hair and touched her face and cradled her in its arms.

Ah, she remembers now.

It was Sousa.

She holds on to this feeling for as long as she can, and when she opens her eyes, her body feels like her own again.

Gingerly, she places her feet on the ground and steadies herself against the healing chamber. She knows she has to rest, but she also knows that she can't afford to lose any more time. There's still so much more that needs to be done before they can make it home, so many things they still need to make right. She sets off for the bridge, taking achingly slow steps, trying to make sense of the snippets of conversation she can hear, something about slowing down, moving faster, something about Inhuman biology.

The answer clicks into place then, and she wills herself to move a little faster. The team is all gathered when she finally reaches them, and it makes her feel a bit better, telling them her plan, discussing tactics and their next mission. They have big decisions they need to make, ones they can't make alone, so she leans against Mack as they walk to Coulson's room, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he died. Again.

It's hard to believe, hard to comprehend, but when she sees him lying on the table as the rest of his body is being printed, she's reminded of the fact that he's not entirely human. Not anymore.

She sits there, watching as the machine stitches his legs into existence, thinking of the journey they've been on together. He pulled her from her van, gave her something to fight for, gave her a family to believe in. He was there with her the first time she almost died and was one of the only reasons that she didn't. She's fought by his side and against him, and it was never easy, but it was real, even when he wasn't himself.

Is he real now? Or is he code and programming?

This is the first time she's really had a chance to think about it. There's been so much happening, one disaster after the other, and if she's being honest, she was all too happy to put it out of her mind and focus only on the immediate threats at hand. But seeing him in this machine now brings the decision she made in 1931 front and center.

She did the right thing, didn't she? Pressing that button, telling him the truth? It was worth it, wasn't it, to have him here now?

This time, Simmons is the one who presses the button, and Coulson's eyes open immediately. He catches on to their current situation quickly and Daisy watches him the whole time.

Was it really worth it? Bringing him back to all of this?

She's not so sure, but then he turns his head and looks at her, and god, his eyes are the same as they've always been.

Yes, it was worth it.

It always will be.

If the choice is between a world with or without him, she knows which one she'll pick. She'll make the same choice every single time.

It doesn't matter what his body is made of. This is him, Phil Coulson. And yes, he's changed since she first met him, but so has she. They've both become entirely different people, but what matters is that they're still here. Together.

She pulls herself up and walks over to him, listening to him explain what he's gone through. It's been hard on him too, and she can't begin to imagine what it must have been like, but she knows they'll get through it just as they always have. This may not be the life she imagined, but it's the one she has, and it's enough that he's still in it. When he tells her that he's happy, she knows that he feels the same. She can hear it in his voice, see it on his face. It's still him, caring about her as he's always done.

She gives him a small smile, remembering what it took to get her back here, remembering who was responsible.

It sticks out to her, the fact that both Coulson and Sousa got a second chance at life, the fact that both of them ended up saving hers. She's never been a big believer in fate or destiny, but this knowledge feels weighty and important. It feels significant but it also makes her keenly aware of how improbable and impossible it is that both of these men are here beside her. She can't shake the terrible feeling that it's temporary, that she might wake up one day and find that it was all a dream.

Perhaps anyone else would've just been grateful that it wasn't a nightmare, but that's not enough for her. Daisy has always been careful and protective of the few people she lets herself get close to, and now that they're here, she can't imagine her life without them. She may not have a choice about it in the end, but that doesn't mean she'll go down without a fight, and anyone who knows her knows that she wins her fights.

Coulson watches as she recalls how lucky she was that Sousa was there, and she can tell that he's also realizing just how close they came to losing each other again.

 _I'm glad he's here_ , she tells him, and she isn't just talking about the man who carried her out of the barn.

What she means is, _I hope he'll stay_ , and she means the both of them.


	8. viii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In her head, she understands that it’s only temporary, that in just a little while, she’ll wake up again and he’ll be sitting in his chair as he’s always been. In just a little while, he won’t remember any of this. But she will. She’ll never forget it.

**viii.**

All things considered, if Daisy had to guess the latest nonsense they'd be dealing with, a time loop actually makes the most sense.

Surely it was bound to happen eventually since they've started messing with history, and, honestly, it might not be the worst thing that's ever happened to them. At the very least, it means that they have more than one shot to crack this thing, and judging by how many times they've already failed, they're going to need all the chances they can get.

The downside is that she is absolutely exhausted.

She was still in the slow process of recovering even before all of this happened, and since the loops started – or rather, since she began remembering them – she's woken with a jolt each time, adrenaline pumping, ready to get on with it and figure out how to get things right this time around. It has its perks, being able to pick up where she left off, and it's efficient, especially knowing that their number of remaining tries is dwindling. But it also means that she never really feels well-rested since she's been living through one long, continuous day that never seems to end.

Of course, the only occasions when she actually wakes up refreshed are after the loops where she dies, which is not great on its own, but the fact that she also has to re-learn everything again just means more wasted time that they'll never get back. Meanwhile, they're getting closer and closer to the eye of a storm which threatens to erase them from existence.

So, all in all, a pretty typical day at SHIELD.

It's loop 90-something now – or maybe 100? – and she finally feels like she's getting the hang of it, like they're starting to make some real progress. The way to solve this particular problem is not with brute force, but by picking at it slowly and leaving breadcrumbs that she can follow in the future. It's not really her style, not anymore, but she can work with it. Piece by piece, until they solve this puzzle.

Still, there's no getting around the fact that they're running out of time.

The distance between them and the vortex is getting smaller and smaller, and their progress is incremental at best. Her adrenaline is starting to run out too, and it's getting harder to keep repeating the same day over and over again, getting close to something that might be the solution only to blink and end up back underneath glass. It's harder still to keep watching her friends get hurt and die, even if it's only temporary. She's afraid it might not be for much longer.

They have to get it right this time. They have to get that implant out so Simmons can tell them how to fix the time drive so this day can finally end. And they're close, they're so close this time, and she's sure that if they can just...

Wait. Something's different.

The cologne, the drawer, it wasn't like that before. Sousa calls out to her then, and that's different too, him showing up here now. She fills him in on what's happened as succinctly as she can, and he, of course, takes it in stride, even sounding excited when he brings up his SSR days. She makes a mental note to ask him about it later.

But first things first.

Remove the implant. Fix the time drive. Make it to tomorrow.

She reaches down for the scanner, but Sousa stops her before she can grab it. It makes sense when he explains that it's a trap, and she's glad that he realized it even as she's annoyed at herself for missing it. She's getting sloppy now, careless and tired from doing this so many times, and that worries her. The lack of concern he has for his own life worries her too, even if his reasoning is sound.

She's still trying to think through what it all means – who would sabotage them, who would want to kill Simmons, how he could be so willing to sacrifice himself like this. But then he's grabbed it, and oh, he's okay, but oh, no.

No, he's not.

She hears him grunt, sees him looking at her in confusion and pain, and there's only one thought on her mind as she watches blood spill from his mouth – she wishes she had grabbed it instead. It happens so fast that she can barely choke out his name before he's falling, dying in front of her very eyes. The world fades away at the edges, and she's aware of Simmons and Coulson at her side, trying to pull her away, trying to get her back on track, but she can't see anything except the man in front of her. She can't feel anything except his hand growing cold in hers.

Two breaths later, he's gone, and when he goes limp, the last of her adrenaline leaves her as well. The energy drains right out of her, and she slumps against the cabinet, clutching him as if she might will him back to life.

You'd think she'd be used to it by now – all this suffering, all this loss. But it's funny, there always seems to be more to take.

The room is quiet, and she realizes that the others have gone. They must be trying to figure things out on their own, trying to salvage what they can before the next reset. She knows she should join them, that she can't afford to let any more time go to waste, but her body refuses to move.

In her head, she understands that it's only temporary, that in just a little while, she'll wake up again and he'll be sitting in his chair as he's always been. In just a little while, he won't remember any of this. But she will.

She'll never forget it.

It feels as familiar as all those other losses and as new as the very first one and as terrible as the memory of static in her ears and an explosion before her eyes. It's not exactly the same, and she knows this too, but it's close, a different shade of the same color. It's too close for comfort and she's too tired to leave, so she sits there beside him, holding his hand, waiting for it to be over.

Next time, they'll get it right, or maybe the time after that, or maybe it'll take them up until the very last second. Either way, she'll never let it happen exactly like this again.

She sits there with him for another hour until the familiar whirring finally reaches her ears, and it's the first time all day that she's been relieved to hear the sound.

Before she goes, she says his name again, a reminder for the next time, but a promise too.

 _Sousa_ , she whispers.

What she means is, _I_ _won't_ _lose you again._

...

It's the sound of feet hitting the floor that wakes Daniel up.

Strange, because he's usually awake before she is.

He doesn't know it, but this is the 43rd time that she's woken him, and when the day is finally done, it will have happened four more times, though he doesn't know that yet either. What he does know is that she's looking better, healthier, almost fully recovered. It's a relief, seeing her alert and lucid, seeing the color back in her face.

It wasn't easy getting here. Those first few days back were rough.

She was so still in that healing chamber, so stiff and unmoving, and he kept watching her breathe, afraid that she might stop the second he turned away. He ended up staying with her most of that night, dozing off in fits and bursts and waking with a start at the slightest noise. Her condition was stable by the morning, and it remained that way until the early evening when she finally opened her eyes again.

He had been beside her when it happened, had watched her jerk violently awake, barely conscious but already prepared to fight. It tugged at him, that confused but determined expression on her face, like she couldn't let herself be helpless no matter the circumstances. He found himself wondering where she had learned that, what she had lived through that would make such a response so instinctual, so automatic.

He found himself wondering if she'd ever known peace.

But then he looked down at her wide eyes and furrowed brow, and no, he didn't think she ever had.

Simmons had heard the commotion too and returned to the room then with fresh bandages, and between the two of them, they managed to calm Daisy down enough to clean the wounds she reopened and help her back in the chamber. She'd closed her eyes reluctantly but fell asleep quickly, and Simmons had assured him that she'd be out for a while, that he should take a break.

But Daniel couldn't stop seeing the distress on her face when she'd woken, couldn't stop imagining what nightmares must have startled her awake. So he stayed with her that second night too, and luckily, that ended up being the worst of it. The days got easier after that, one by one, slowly but surely, and after a while, they developed something of a routine.

He'd spend his mornings reading up about everything he'd missed since 1955. In the afternoon, he'd walk around the plane and up and down the stairs with her, breaking in his new leg while she regained her strength. He'd end his day whenever she did, following her into the room, settling into the chair beside her, and staying until she fell asleep before going back to his own bunk for the rest of the night.

Truth be told, it's not how he imagined he'd be spending his time here.

When he made the decision to stay, he had thought he'd be helping out in more strategic ways, like devising a plan to beat the Chronicoms, or at the very least, lending a hand around the plane. But it turned out that his expert investigative skills were of very little use against alien robots from the future, and his understanding of 1950s technology was completely outmatched by the advanced machinery around him.

After numerous failed attempts to provide assistance, he quickly learned that the best way to help the team was by helping Daisy. She's their strongest fighter, and they need her back in the game, so Daniel takes it upon himself to make sure she's back in play sooner rather than later. They switch from walking to training, and it quickly becomes his favorite part of the day, going hand to hand with her, seeing all the different ways she can use her powers.

No, it's not what he imagined. It's better.

He realizes after one particularly tough session that, out of everyone on the team, he's spent the most time with her. Certainly since they got back, but really, since this whole thing began. Of course he'd been drawn to her since the start, but it feels different now. He's no longer being pulled in, she's simply become part of his orbit.

Staying by her side, keeping an eye on her, figuring out what she needs – it's all second nature to him now. It's muscle memory, as natural as breathing, as automatic as blinking.

At a certain point, he learns her habits and patterns. A good day looks like easy smiles and conversation even as she's throwing him over her shoulder onto the mat. A bad day looks like her pulling her punches, picking at her food, and taking an early night. Either way, he makes sure to be there in his chair until she drifts off. He can't stop the nightmares, but he can talk her through them when she wakes up, and he can remind her that she's not alone. It's important to him that she knows it.

And that's how it goes, day in, day out.

Until today.

He's still groggy as he opens his eyes, but when he sees her, he can already tell that something's off. She looks preoccupied and withdrawn, her shoulders hunched as if she's carrying the weight of the world, and he can tell it's going to be one of the bad days. He won't know just how bad until later when it's all over.

She's not saying anything and must be lost in thought, so he calls her attention and asks her what she's doing. When she responds, there's an edge in her voice that he's not sure he's ever heard before. It's not sharp, exactly, but it's pointed, a bit of attitude daring him to answer her question.

He wonders what's changed since yesterday, when they were talking like they always do and she was teasing him about an old phrase he had used. Something's clearly changed for her, but not for him. It's just another day, and he's been looking forward to reading about 1973, but he's been looking forward to spending time with her more.

So he chuckles before responding, wondering how it's possible that they've been through so much together and yet she still doesn't know.

Why does he care?

Isn't it obvious?

 _Because you don't_ , he replies with a small smile.

What he means is, _because I do_.


	9. ix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth, the honest truth, is that he’s falling for her. He has been since the moment they met, a bit more each and every day, and he’s still falling, even now, sitting just a breath away.

**ix.**

Perhaps one of these days, Daniel will wake up feeling something other than confusion.

It would certainly be a nice change of pace, actually having an understanding of what's going for once, being able to say with certainty that he's got a solid grasp of the situation. It would be better yet if he were to wake up to a normal, uneventful day with nothing out of the ordinary and no crisis to solve, but that would be too much to hope for.

Today is not that day.

At first, he thinks he must have misheard Daisy. He's still groggy from sleep, still trying to get his eyes and his brain back in focus, so it would make sense if his ears needed a second to catch up as well. _Time loop_ sounds like yet another random combination of unrelated words this team seems to throw around with increasing frequency, and he's not entirely sure what it means, though he can spare a guess.

Presumably, time is looping, repeating itself somehow, and the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he must have heard her right after all. This is exactly the kind of nonsense they would find themselves dealing with, and considering everything he's been through so far, it makes about as much sense as anything else, which is to say, it doesn't make any sense at all.

He tries to imagine the logistics of such a thing, how it would work, what it could possibly entail, but it just makes his head hurt more than the first time he woke up on the plane. Still, he gets the distinct sense that this wouldn't be the craziest thing the team has ever faced, though he's not sure if that makes it better or worse.

And to think, he had assumed that reading more about Watergate would be the most exciting part of his day, but really, he should have known better. He's learned by now that there's no such thing as normal on the Zephyr, not when they're traveling through spacetime trying to stop a group of killer face-stealing robots.

At least he's never been bored.

Since he's met them, Daniel hasn't had a single moment where he felt that he was just sitting idle, not even during those first slow days of Daisy's recovery when that's literally all he was doing. There is always something new to discover or learn or see, and it's actually kind of fun, the uncertainty and the absurdity of it all. It reminds him of his SSR days spent chasing leads and solving cases, never quite knowing what would come next.

But the look on Daisy's face snaps him out of his memories, and it's obvious that she doesn't think this is exciting or fun, so he shifts in his chair and offers his help. It's a sincere gesture on his part – it always is – but he doesn't expect her to take him up on it, not really. In the short time that he's known her, he's seen just how capable she is, and self-sufficient too. He could count on one hand the number of times she's ever asked him for anything, and in fact, he wouldn't even need the hand because it's zero. She's never asked.

Even when her wounds were still fresh, she had insisted on doing things herself, waving him off as she struggled with her bandages and assuring him that she was okay when it was clear she was anything but. It might have driven him crazy if it hadn't been so familiar.

It's 1946 all over again, and it amazes him how half a century or more later, their line of work still has a way of attracting such a specific type of person – the type with a fiery determination to save the world and a willingness to sacrifice anything to do it, the type who never gives up on a problem that needs solving no matter the personal cost.

This is also the type of person who can never sit still for long, so he has a pretty good idea of how the next few minutes will go. She'll run off to another fire that needs putting out, and he'll spend the day trying to keep up and help out however he can, even if that just means staying out of her way. What he doesn't expect is for her to pull up a chair and sit down in front of him, and god, there's really never a dull moment, is there, not when she's always managing to surprise him.

She starts talking, an incredulous tone in her voice when she remarks that nothing seems to faze him, and he has to laugh because that's certainly not how it feels from his end. He's been clueless and so goddamn confused since 1955, and absolutely everything at any given moment fazes him. Really, the only reason he's still holding it together is because it became apparent in '76 when no one else could explain why they jumped again that the only way to make it through this mission without losing his mind was to stop thinking about it and just strap himself in for the ride. Which is how he's now able to get through the day and sleep easy at night.

It's true what they say, ignorance really is bliss.

Still, he can't help feeling relieved that she hasn't seemed to notice how disoriented he is, and he's pleased and more than a little proud of himself to hear the admiration in her voice. It feels like high praise, that someone as ordinary as he is could impress someone as remarkable as her.

Her demeanor shifts then, turning serious, and she asks him why he's always helping her, telling him to be honest, and up until now, he thought he had been. He had thought he was being obvious, that surely, his actions were speaking for themselves, but perhaps he's been too subtle about it. Perhaps things like this – matters of the heart, his mother would've said – are handled differently in her time.

He takes a deep breath, fully prepared to tell her everything she's asking about and everything she's not, but then he sees her looking at him so expectantly, so attentively that he loses his nerve a little and has to break her gaze.

The truth, the honest truth, is that he's falling for her. He has been since the moment they met, a bit more each and every day, and he's still falling, even now, sitting just a breath away from her.

That's the truth she's asking for, but he can't bring himself to tell her, not yet. It doesn't feel right, not so soon after what she's been through, not when she's clearly in the middle of a problem she's trying to crack. Besides, he's still trying to process it himself, just how deeply he's grown to care for her in such a short period of time, so he doesn't want to pressure her with any unnecessary burdens.

He lifts his eyes, wondering what to tell her, wondering how to say it.

When he does finally speak, he regrets his choice of words almost immediately. She squints at him when he mentions her type, giving him a skeptical look that can only mean they've stopped using that phrase too, and it occurs to him that he should really start keeping a list before he confuses anyone else. _Trout in the milk_ is out, though _off the radar_ is still in. _Your type_ seems to be out as well, or maybe it just means something different now.

He tries again, describing how he sees her. In his eyes, she's someone who's strong and stubborn, solitary but surrounded by friends, someone who doesn't think twice about sacrificing herself for others. More than anything, he sees someone who has been through the worst the world has to offer but never stops fighting to make it a better place.

Most of all, he likes what he sees.

He doesn't tell her that, but he hopes she can hear it when he speaks.

Her eyes soften as she listens, and, oh, he's definitely falling for her, all right, especially when she looks at him like that. It's funny how the same emotions can feel so different under different circumstances, with different people. With Daisy, it doesn't feel like a tide that sweeps him away, it doesn't feel like something out of his control, which is ironic given that every other aspect of his life has felt like that since they met.

But not this. No, this is more like the culmination of all the decisions he's ever made, decisions that have led him here, where there are many paths before him but only one that it makes sense to take. It's like the sun, rising in the morning and setting in the evening. It's inevitable.

That he wants this, that he's choosing this, choosing her – that feels inevitable too. And the truth is, he hopes she'll make the same choice.

But he doesn't tell her that either.

Instead, he talks about walls, both metaphorical and literal, and maybe that was another wrong choice of words, because she's still not quite getting it, still looking at him with that puzzled expression like she can't figure him out.

So he tries again, one more time, and if he's being honest, he's half in love with her before the words even leave his lips.

 _You should have someone there to pick you back up_ , he tells her.

What he means is, _let it be me_.

...

The thing is, Daisy can't actually afford to take a loop.

Even as she's saying the words, she knows that they've reached the point where every second matters, and she should be out there with Coulson and Simmons, working on a plan to save them all. But for all their attempts, they've barely made any progress, and what little progress they have made has been thanks to Sousa, so, really, it's just good strategy to take the extra few minutes to talk to him.

Well, that's half of it, anyway.

It's been a few turns since he died, and he's only been immobilized and gravely injured since then, which is really the best possible outcome she could hope for given the current circumstances. Still, it's been hard to wake him each time, to see the confused determination in his eyes as she sends him off to be a distraction, knowing that he'll fail just like every other time.

Now, she has to do it again.

He stirs as he always does in the chair next to the healing chamber, and it's a relief to see him safe and whole, no matter how many times she's repeated this day. If she thinks about it, he's always been there, hasn't he, even before the loops started. Ever since he dragged them back from the barn, he's been a constant presence at her side, helping her when she needed and backing off when she asked. She doesn't mind it, she actually likes it, but she'd also like to know why.

That's the other half.

Of course, she's not completely oblivious. She's noticed the way he looks at her sometimes, the way he's so attentive around her, and she has an idea – a hope, really – that it means what she thinks it does, that he might feel for her what she's starting to feel for him.

It's the first time she's allowed herself to admit these feelings. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when they began.

There wasn't a specific moment when she started to look at him in a different light. It's more that, for so long, he wasn't in her life, and then one day, he was, and from that point on, there was no going back to the way it was before. Perhaps if she tried hard enough, she could – there are few things she hasn't been able to accomplish through sheer stubbornness and force of will – but the fact is, she doesn't want to.

She doesn't want to go back.

That's not to say that her life is objectively better now that he's here. No, she'd been doing just fine before she met him, and she'd been genuinely content with her status quo. But since he came along, things have changed in a way she didn't know she wanted until it happened, in a way she likes more than she expected.

It's not that she can't live without him either. She's been doing that for over thirty years without any trouble, and realistically, she knows she may have to do it again by the time this mission is over. But she hopes she won't have to, she hopes she might have a future that includes him, and it's been a while since she's wanted anything like that – something selfish, something for herself.

When it comes down to it, it just feels different with him. Being with him is steady and safe and natural in a way that might have scared her a few years ago, but not now. It feels right, and she's ready, and she wonders if he might feel the same way.

So she pulls up a chair, makes herself comfortable, and asks.

Silence lingers in the air for a moment, and the expression on his face is unreadable before he looks away when she tells him to be honest. He's never done that before – struggled to meet her eyes – and she's not sure what it means, if it's good or bad. For a second, she wonders if she's misjudged the situation completely, if she's misread all his cues. Maybe he's just being a gentleman, just being polite, but then he surprises her by saying that he knows her type.

She's briefly taken aback by how bold he is before recognizing that it's just his particular way of speaking, and she has to admit, it's actually growing on her. As she listens to him, she can't help noticing how straight-forward he is for someone who's otherwise so old-fashioned, how he's somehow the most and least predictable person she's ever met. It occurs to her that she didn't need to tell him to be honest because that's just how he is. He would've done it even if she hadn't asked, and as she watches him, she realizes he's done a lot of things without needing her to ask.

When she was still weak from her injuries, she had made a point of always changing her own bandages no matter how painful or difficult it was, because after what she went through, she needed to be in control of her own body again. She spent those first few days struggling at it with shaky hands, but he was right there, picking up things she hadn't known she'd dropped and handing her the clean cloths as soon as she was ready for them. When she got better enough to start training again, he always seemed to know if she was having a good day or a bad one, asking her for another round on the mats before she could suggest it or calling an early night even as she was about to say the same.

Now, listening to the way he describes her, it strikes her just how well he knows her despite the short time they've spent together. Because he's right, about all of it. She does care about the greater good, she is terrible at being a lone wolf, she does hate losing, and she's never met a wall she didn't try to run at. It's been a long time since anyone's seen her so clearly, both the good and the bad. It's been a long time since anyone's seen her not just for who she is, but who she strives to be.

It feels good, being seen by him.

But for all he's said, he still hasn't really answered her question, he still hasn't told her why. Why he's doing any of this, why he's always there for her, why he cares so much.

So she asks him again, and he surprises her for the second time.

It makes her breath catch in her throat, when he tells her that she should have someone, and it sounds like an invitation, it sounds like an offer. It startles her even as she wants to accept it, and she pulls away instinctively. Old habits die hard, and she can't help the sudden feeling of uncertainty, the familiar need to run before things get too deep, so she retreats to safer ground even though he's said exactly what she wanted to hear.

When he tells her the offer isn't for everyone, there's a directness in his tone, an openness on his face, and he couldn't be more clear if he had come right out and said it. So he feels it too, doesn't he, this thing that's growing between them.

After a beat, he leans forward, and describes someone who sounds very familiar, someone who sounds a lot like herself, and she has to chuckle at the realization that Daniel Sousa, a square if she's ever met one, might actually be flirting with her and might actually be doing a decent job of it.

She knows then that it's too late now, she's already in the deep end, but she doesn't plan on leaving. This is what she wants, more of these moments with him, more of these conversations, and maybe one day, a future.

It's not easy for her to lean forward, but she does it anyway. It goes against her instincts and feels risky and monumental, and perhaps it is. She never expected to feel this way again, and until she met him, she didn't want to, but things are different now. She wants this, more than anything she's ever wanted in a very long time.

The distance between them shrinks as she moves closer, slowly, carefully, leaving a space for old habits and new ones. She imagines what it might be like to run at walls with this man behind her, what it might be like to come home to him. She imagines the future, and, oh, she likes what she sees.

 _That is awfully specific_ , she murmurs with a smile.

What she means is, _I like the sound of that._


	10. x.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She lets her eyes linger on his lips, and it occurs to her then that she’s going to fall in love with this man, and when he lifts his eyes back to hers, she knows she’s going to enjoy every minute of it.

**x.**

The most important thing to know about Daniel is that he’s a patient man, always has been.

Even as a baby, he was quiet, rarely fussy, just stared at everything around him with wide, curious eyes, so his grandmother used to say. After she passed a few years later, he was left on his own a lot, and as a result, he learned how to keep himself busy by making up games to play with his imaginary friends. It wasn’t a bad childhood, strictly speaking, but he still left town the first chance he got.

Enlisting had seemed like a good idea at the time, though the war turned out to be altogether different from what he’d expected. Despite what the recruiters had told him, it wasn’t always action and gunfire and explosions. More often than not, it was exhausting drills and a whistle telling him where to go and what to do and hours spent sitting in the rain and the cold, waiting for something to happen and dreading it in equal measure.

He spent those uncertain nights memorizing times tables, and later, when he was discharged from the hospital with a new leg and a shiny silver crutch, he could do just about any quick calculation in his head without ever breaking a sweat. It proved to be useful when he joined the SSR, starting out in a desk job looking over reports and financial records before working his way up the chain. Once he became a field agent, he ran out of numbers to go over in his head, so instead, he spent his many, long overnight stakeouts studying every inch of the neighborhood streets until he could map them out in his dreams.

All this is to say that patience is a skill that has served Daniel well in his life, but never more so than now.

Because life on the Zephyr is different. It’s not that he’s bored – that’s easily the last word he’d ever use to describe his experiences on this plane – but it’s certainly a different routine than the one he left behind. There are no briefings to attend, no meetings with other agencies, no red-tape bureaucracy or higher-ups breathing down his neck. It’s just day after day of unstructured time without anyone dictating how he should fill it, so he does what he does best and keeps himself busy.

At first, he feels rather useless. It’s been a long time since he’s been out of his depth like this, and truth be told, it’s humbling to be relegated to the sidelines, more or less a rookie again, incapable of doing anything more complicated than making coffee. But the discomfort doesn’t last long. It’s hard to care too much about his ego when they’re on a mission to save the world, when every time he looks out the window, he’s reminded of the vastness of the universe and how impossible it is that he should get to see it like this.

So he spends his mornings catching up on history and making sure the coffee is fresh, and the rest of the time, he spends with Daisy.

It’s comfortable, being in her presence, whether they’re talking or training together or each doing their own thing in their own corner of the room. After a while, he begins to pick up on all her little mannerisms and habits, both good and bad, and what sticks out the most is the fact that she never asks him for help, not even when she clearly needs it.

At first, he assumes it’s because she’s still feeling like she owes him for saving her life, but the more time he spends with her, the more he realizes that’s not quite it. Not all of it, anyway. There’s a perpetually guarded look in her eyes that takes him a few days to recognize, and once he does, he can’t believe he didn’t see it before. He knows that look well, he’s seen it in so many other people before her. It’s a look that comes from a lifetime of learning the hard way that the only person you can rely on is yourself.

That explains it.

That explains so much.

Because he’s no stranger to that feeling either. He’s walked through his life alone for many years of it, but he was lucky, he found his place, first in the army, then at the SSR, at SHIELD, and now here. It’s been a long time since he’s had to feel guarded, but it’s not a feeling he’ll ever forget. He understands better than most why she can’t bring herself to ask him for anything, and he doesn’t take it personally, even as he hopes that she might one day say those words.

Instead, he continues to spend his time with her because he likes it, because he likes her, and even if she never outright asks for his help, she still accepts it every time he offers. For someone like her, that can’t come easy, and it may not look like much from the outside, but it’s not nothing. It’s something, it’s a sign that she trusts him, and for now, that’s enough.

All this is to say that, after a while, Daniel knows Daisy well enough to know exactly what she needs without ever needing her to ask.

So naturally, that’s when she finally does.

The room is still dim when she speaks, with shadows lining the wall that make him wonder if he might still be sleeping, if it might all be a dream. For a moment, he’s speechless, not sure how to react, not sure what to say.

He doesn’t know it then, but this won’t be the first time he’s helped her that day, not by a long shot, and he won’t remember any of this tomorrow, but he doesn’t know that either.

What he does know is that she looks tentative and uncertain, but her voice is clear when she says the words.

What he does know is that he would’ve waited the rest of his life to hear her say them, but he’s glad it didn’t take that long.

What he does know is that he didn’t expect her to say them, but he’s still happy that she did.

Because Daniel is a patient man who’s been waiting for this moment, and now that it’s here, he knows exactly how to respond.

 _Of course_ , he tells her, _whatever you need_.

What he means is, _I thought you’d never ask_.

...

The first time Daisy thinks about kissing him is in the bar in 1973.

She’s enjoying the irritation on Gideon Malick’s face almost as much as she’s enjoying the feeling of Sousa’s hand around her waist, and she can’t help leaning into him, resting her fingers against the soft fabric of his vest. Maybe it’s the relaxed atmosphere or the fun decade that they’re in, but she feels loose and comfortable, especially when he runs his palm gently down her back.

For a moment, she lets herself imagine what it might be like if they were just an ordinary couple, young and in love, out for a drink and maybe a dance before going to dinner, then a drive, and ending the night with a kiss. It wouldn’t be so bad, she thinks wistfully, turning to look at him as he tilts his head towards her. She likes the way he softens his voice when he calls her _honey_ , the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and when he pulls her close, but not too close, she’s only too happy to let him.

No, it wouldn’t be so bad at all.

The second time she thinks of kissing him comes in 1982.

It’s a quiet afternoon, and they’re in the training room, warming up before another workout. Since she’s started feeling better, she’s been easing herself back into the routine, trying to push herself up to the level she was before. Most days, Sousa joins her, and she’s glad that he does because it’s fun, both having a partner to train with and seeing his skills in action, especially with his new leg. He’s very good at hand-to-hand combat, and she appreciates that he never pulls his punches.

Her jabs and kicks are still in good form, so she’s been working on her defense, and for the past few days, she’s been trying and failing at each and every attempt to flip him over her shoulder. It used to be so easy for her, but she can’t seem to get the right grip or the right footing anymore, and she’s not sure if it’s because she’s still recovering or if she’s overthinking things because it’s him.

He advances towards her, and she expects the familiar resistance when she grabs him, but it’s not there this time, and she hasn’t even realized that she’s thrown him until she hears a heavy thud against the mat. She turns around to look, so surprised to see him down on the ground that she doesn’t even notice his arm reaching for her ankle until it’s too late and she’s landed flat on her back. For such a by-the-book kind of guy, he certainly has a few tricks up his sleeve.

She lays there beside him, panting at the impact but laughing too, the kind that makes your throat hoarse and your belly ache, the kind that reminds you what it means to be alive. When was the last time she’d laughed like this, months, maybe years? She can’t quite remember, but she knows it’s been far too long.

He’s propped up on his elbow when she finally gathers herself, and she turns on her side to face him. There’s a mischievous glint in his eye when he reminds her never to let her guard down, but he’s still grimacing from his own painful landing, so perhaps neither one of them have won this round.

Or perhaps they both have. Because the space between them is merely a sliver, not quite close enough to be lovers but more intimate than friends, and she could reach him in just one breath. Just one kiss. She looks at him, and that twinkle is still there in his eye, but there’s something else too, something softer, and she wonders if he’d been thinking the same thing.

The moment is broken by the sound of footsteps in the hallway and she picks herself back up, slowly, regretfully, offering her hand to him as they both get to their feet. Before she lets go, she gives his palm a tiny, imperceptible squeeze, and he tightens his hand around hers in response. Then they walk out of the room together, not too close, but closer.

The third time is a few days later.

She’s just watched him die, and when she wakes up and sees him back in the chair, the relief and gratitude are palpable, but those aren’t the only things that she feels. She can’t take her eyes off him, not when he looks so peaceful there, chest rising and falling, face unlined by the worries of the day. It’s hard to leave, harder than any other time before, but she sneaks out as quietly as she can, being careful not to wake him, taking one last look back at him, healthy and whole, lips no longer stained with blood.

She almost touches them, almost presses her own lips to his, just to be safe, just to be sure.

The fourth time comes right after.

It’s during their conversation, when he calls her impressive and she leans forward, holding his gaze until he takes a moment to look away. She finds it incredibly endearing, how open his face is, how clearly she can see the hope and the sincerity and the nervousness there. Silence blankets the distance between them, but it’s comfortable – warm like a hug, soft like a caress.

While he’s still looking down, she lets her eyes linger on his lips, and it occurs to her then that she’s going to fall in love with this man, and when he lifts his eyes back to hers, she knows she’s going to enjoy every minute of it.

The next time Daisy thinks about kissing him is the first time she actually does.

She hadn’t planned it, hadn’t expected it, but he’s looking at her so earnestly despite his obvious confusion that she wonders what’s stopping her before realizing it’s herself. And she knows it might not matter because he won’t remember it in the morning, but she does it anyway, because she knows that she will.

Later, she’ll remember how warm and steady he had felt beneath her hands and against her lips, how he had leaned into her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Later, she’ll remember how quietly he had sighed into the kiss, how she had realized then that he must’ve been waiting for this too.

Later, she’ll remember how when they parted, she had kept her eyes closed for a heartbeat longer, imagining the two of them, just an ordinary couple, young and in love and headed for the future.

She’ll remember all this tomorrow, the day after, the day after that. And long after she’s made new memories, she’ll still remember this one.

 _That was nice_ , she had smiled.

What she meant was, _it was worth the wait_.


End file.
